


Fates Chosen

by Raven_1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Reference to other fandoms
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Child Abuse, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Pain, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_1/pseuds/Raven_1
Summary: Harry Potter has the power to defeat the dark lord. Although people soon find out he's not the same little boy they expected him to be. A more confident boy lies beneath. But what of his past? What of the horrors he's been through.Is he the end or begining to the war? Which side will he take? Will he have a choice? A way out, or doomed to be controlled former, by fates hands.Smart/ Gryffindor /Sassy/Powerful/ Confident/ Hot Harry.





	1. Prophecy of the stars

* * *

               There's a difference between freedom and imprisonment. 

Freedom is accelerating. An adventure to be creating. The power to act, to speak, or to think as freely as one wishes. Freedom is to soar though the clouds, and be as untamed as the sea can be vicious. To go anywhere, with no one to please. To travel the world with ease. Freedom is running for the sunsets, searching for the nights, and never counting the days. 

Freedom is a right none should have taken away. 

Imprisonment is to be confined, placed behind bars to rot in chains. To be a slave for permanent labour, or drown with the pain. Held captive by your mind, a puppet controlled by strings. To dance and to bow on society’s whim. To beg and to plead for a chance to be free, to be yourself and not what people make you out to be. 

Imprisonment is certain. All you have to do is obey the rules. Imprisonment is boring that much is true. Shackled by loneliness, and tied down with the things you never knew. Starved for love, or praise, it's never been mankind's way. We search for a weakness, for a soul to betray. We can count on our cruelness, our will to survive, and yet wonder why people don’t treat us with kindness, when the time comes they pass us by. 

All Harry Potters life he was imprisoned. Locked in a cupboard under the stairs. Beaten and belittled by a family that was supposed to care. Then an invitation to rewrite their wrongs, in a place full of magic where he finally belonged. 

A boy with intelligence unmatched, a mask he wore to keep frim getting attached. A mop of black hair, with matching emerald eyes, to protect himself, mastered lies. Secrets he would take to the grave, known for his scars, he made a point to misbehave. His magic unparalleled, growing stronger each year he self trained. 

The summer meant for fun, while he studied and ran from the whale of a son. His knowledge took over hundreds of books, the scars shaping his looks. He fought to be heard, but they only saw a child. Not knowing that it was in his nature to be wild. 

Traveling the world, never staying still. Accomplishing all he wished to fulfil. He learned magic, old and new. His body a canvas, for many a tattoo. Friendships made, alliances formed. Sticking to the act he underperformed. 

The secrets piled up, the glamour charms becoming routine. A power growing, a thing that remained unseen. He was their saviour and yet they turned their backs. Joking around, hiding the pain under wisecracks. 

The boy from the cupboard, slowly grew up. And they started to realise that they missed so much. The abuse wore like a crown, standing up after every knock down. 

Born to die at the others hand, the world to end or save, on his command.

The war is brewing. Will the boy be the man’s undoing? 


	2. The new Boy-Who-Lived plans of attack

Leaves fell like water, the wind trying to break through the glass. Animals could feel it; the sudden change in the air. Rain began to pour, echoing through out the alleys and lanes. While the cause of such ruckus lay fast asleep. 

Harry James Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, chosen one to defeat the famous Dark Lord, protector of Hogwarts, and mischief maker was thrashing in his bed. Pain etched into his face, his limbs clutching the sheets for help, his mouth open in a silent scream. Green flashed behind his eyelids, startling him awake. 

Sitting up straight, he grabbed his sides, dropping back onto the mattress not a second after, flinching when his bare wounded back touched the damp sheets. Shaky breathing filling the silence, as the boy dared not hurl. Looking down he surveyed his wounds. 

His torso was a nasty shade of purple and yellows, shielding his skin from view, and covered in slits. Taking a deep breath, he moved himself into a hunch standing potion that took a little more than half an hour to accomplish without falling. He stumbled over to his covered mirror, and pulled at the sheet. As it dropped Harry had to stomp down the urge to vomit once more.   
He was covered from head to toe in bruises, blood, scars (fresh and reopened), and belt marks. His pale skin was no more, only the wounds of his punishment, for what he didn’t know.

  
Vernon had came back angry from work once again. A briefcase thrown to one side, and promptly marched up stairs, giving Harry little time to hid his belongings as the locks became undone. He had barley turned to face Vernon before receiving a punch to the stomach, knocking him to the floor, his last beating still under healing.

  
For god only knows how long, he was kicked, punched, whipped, and hit. Fortunately the pain was to unbearable, sending him into unconsciousness fairly quickly. The rest was a blur, snipped memory’s of hearing a door slam, screaming taking place, ( which he could not rule out as his own ) waking up in a pile of blood, pain...so much pain. Magic; wounds crusting, landing softly on a bed. Sunlight. Darkness. Sunlight. Darkness.

  
Gathering his strength he raised his hand, flicking his palm the wounds closed, and ripped up clothes wrapped around his limbs and front. Reaching for his trunk he gulped down; a pepperup potion, pain relief, and some muggle pills. Throwing on some track suit bottoms and a hoody, he placed his hand on the door. Closing his eyes he felt the locks unhinge, and slowly jogged down stairs careful not to make a noise.

  
As he ran around the familiar streets he could feel his minder watching him. Ever since the Triwizard tournament, a group of auror’s had been stationed outside the Dursley house. A small part of him was grateful, but a larger part was annoyed. He could protect himself better than most would believe, but in his state he knew he might not be able to look after someone else. Damn them for only coming now, damn Dumbledore for writing to the Dursleys, damn the auror’s for coming so close to finding out what happens behind closed doors.

  
After an hours jog, he came to an abrupt stop. His body and lungs burning, he raided the kitchen, finding the left over food he had stashed the other morning. Gulping it down, he took a cold shower, cleaning his body and wounds, and replaced his bandages.

His room was the picture of chaos. Books, art utensils, stray paper, cauldrons bubbling, and floating objects taking to the sky. The floor unseen. The stench of blood, vomit and stale food. He sat at his desk, going over plans, writing essays, and reciting incantations.

  
This year he was lucky, Dudley’s old things had been removed from the second bedroom, when it was given to Harry. But the objects and games kept piling up, filling up the cupboard of which he once considered safe heaven. This was fortunate as the Dursleys could not lock his trunk and belongings away, so it was kept in his room, until the time where it could be stored somewhere else.   
Harry believed that this year could be punishment free, of course he was proven wrong when his beefy uncle had taken a shot at him, as soon as he walked in the door. Dumbledore had written, telling them of the horrors of the year.

And as Harry had predicted; they were furious, how could he have not have killed himself and gotten it over with. He was a burden, who would care if he died. Soon over time however both father and son had taken to reminding him of Cedric’s death, coming up with colourful names to befit him.

  
As the summer continued on, Harry was becoming more depressed by the minute. The constant title of ‘murderer’ permanently etched into his brain. The weight seemed to grow bigger, the nightmares becoming worse and the beating growing more continuous.

  
Part of him wanted to give Vernon as beating so bad he wouldn’t walk again for the rest of his life. But the voice of Tom telling him to react to these thoughts sustained him. Knowing he would become another step towards his counterpart, and estranged enemy. Of course just because he didn’t act on said impulses, didn’t mean he think about it everyday, and so had to remind himself that he could not kill the man. Azkaban was not place he wanted to go, and after what he did to the Minister he was sure that just because he saved the wizarding world, it still didn’t stop him from going to jail. To which he found pointless, if fame was one thing, it would of been fun to use, as a ‘get out of jail free’ card.

  
His mind was to occupied to travel to such pity; he had time for that later, deep at night when the nightmares stirred. Right now he was counting his blessings, his potions were nearly finished, and his plans ready to extract.

No matter how his mind was protected Tom seemed to always find a way in. To send nightmares or memory’s of a slaughter that took place in the first war. He had slowly came to the conclusion that a door opened, can be used by both sides. So he listened in on meetings, or angry thoughts, finding weaknesses and Deatheaters that he could later exploit. It had worked brilliantly.

  
And so he knew of the plans to raid Diagon ally, butcher the bystanders and leave none standing. Harry of course knew he should alert the Order, but when he had tried before they had written him off, calling him unreliable; a child none would take seriously. So after the third letter, and the note from Dumbledore himself, Harry took matters into his own hands.

  
Tom had found out how powerful he was in the graveyard, Dumbledore and the rest was naive, coming to the conclusion of luck. As they assumed all of his adventures where. He however could not let innocents die, just because they would not see clearly.

  
His plans where simple. He would fly to Olivander’s and the fight would begin.

  
Waving his hand he put a glamour charm on himself, along with a pass me by charm. Packing his trunk, he dressed in blue skinny jeans, back hoody and matching leather jacket. His wand tucked in his arm holster, his eyes shining in the beginning darkness outside. The cauldrons shrunk along with his trunk, and stuffed into his pockets.

  
Looking around the room for any missed objects he spotted Hedwig’s cage, sitting open. Hedwig herself was out flying, and was told to return to him in Diagon ally when the fight had ended, so he shrunk and pocketed that to.

  
Mounting his broom he kicked off out the window, the bars reappearing after he raced off. Motioning the handle upwards he flew into the clouds, away from the public eye. After an hour of flying, he began his decent into battle. Landing on Olivandor roof, he slid down the tiles, unseen and unheard, and creeped into the back entrance.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter. Nor do I own some of the quotes used in my story.  
> Please tell me what you think, I might need some incouragment, but I'm trying my best.  
> Will post as soon as I can.


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